


where we come alive

by maleclipse



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, M/M, Major Character Injury, Violence, also, author is sorry, both major and minor, but on more positive note
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25100641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maleclipse/pseuds/maleclipse
Summary: “You... interest me.”Martín had a hard time not letting out a disbelieving snort. The concept of Berlin finding him interesting was just too weird to even think about; the difference between them was drastic, you needed to only look at the kill counts; the way they had won their own games. Nevertheless, Berlin’s words also made something flip in Martín’s stomach.(or, also known as the hunger games au you didn't know you needed.)
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 13
Kudos: 65





	where we come alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ironccap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironccap/gifts), [mikethelipe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikethelipe/gifts).



> hello! so, as you might have noticed, this story has went through a lot. when i first started posting this a few months back, i didn’t quite think it through and published chapters i wasn’t satisfied with - they felt wrong, too short or some scenes too long. i decided to delete it, and change the formatting and chapter count, as well as rewrite some scenes. it was something i needed to do for myself and i’m sorry for the people not following me on twitter, that might have not had any idea of what was going on. 
> 
> the biggest change i have done is that instead of the original plan of 12 chapters, this story will now be two (2!) a lot longer chapters. now, if you were a reader before, you will notice that this first chapter is, what i originally planned to be chapters 1-6. so a big part of this chapter is already once posted content, but it also has a lot of new things. 
> 
> to my possible new readers (and to refresh the memory of the old ones), this story will feature violence and death that is typical to the hunger games setting. if that is too much for you, i advice you not to read. 
> 
> that being said, thank you for being patient with me and this story. and a big thank you to mike and inez for always supporting me!!

“You’re having dinner with us, right?” It was Saturday afternoon, their dinner night, and Martín was laying on his couch with his sleepwear and slippers on. His head was pounding, throat sore and Nairobi was there, cleaning up the bottles of beer he had left lying around. She shouldn’t be doing that for him.

Nairobi opened the curtains to let the light in and answered, “Of course.” Their dinners had become almost like a tradition to them; every Saturday they would sit down together, the three remaining victors in District 12, to eat the excellent food Marseille has made with his too much free-time. Martín would bring the too expensive wine he requests from the Capitol and Nairobi would bring the conversations and the needed humanity. Martín and Marseille both lacked that. It was something Martín always looked forward to.

And on top of it being a tradition, tonight was the day they would know more about this year’s Hunger Games. The 100th anniversary, the fourth Quarter Quell.

“I’m not here to clean up for the fun of it,” Nairobi continued, then, and shooed Martín up from the couch. “We’re eating here today. Marseille’s cat is pregnant.”

Martín leaned on the side table with his whole weight and groaned. The light from outside felt way too bright and he had to look away from Nairobi standing right in front of the windows. To her words, he commented, “I thought it was a boy.”

“So did he,” Nairobi answered, and Martín snorted. “You should stop drinking,” she said.

Martín knew that - _everyone_ knew that. People were scared of him, didn’t like him very much for his drinking habits. But he existed to drink and to mentor people to their deaths every year - that’s all he was good at. That, and killing. And every time he tried to stop, something happened. They lived in a world of destruction and Martín didn’t want to be a part of it.

“I know,” he answered, “but I won’t. They burned down the marketplace yesterday, _fuckers_.” The sight of people running away to save their skins from the peacekeepers had been burned in the back of his mind. Martín didn’t see Nairobi’s reaction, but the silence was enough to tell what she was thinking - she was just as sick of it as Martín was.

The rebellion grew stronger every year - Martín saw more and more red every time he left his house. Maybe someday it would win, but yesterday was not that day. Every person with red on them got executed without a warning.

“They have no right,” she said after a long moment, “ _no right_ to do to that.”

“But they have,” Martín answered simply and moved to go put some actual clothes on. Nairobi let him.

↡

Martín didn’t quite understand the reason for them to hold the dinner at his place when Marseille just brought the pregnant cat with him anyway. He wasn’t one to say anything to it, though, so he just greeted the man with a simple, “hi,” and let him in. They all needed something to keep them sane - for Martín, it was the dinners and for Marseille, it was his cat.

Dinner was eaten mostly in silence - they all were just tiptoeing around the subject of tonight’s announcement. Martín hated it for many reasons but stayed silent like the rest. Marseille’s food was amazing and always, but Martín excused himself from the table quite quickly. Marseille’s pregnant cat followed him to the couch.

It was Nairobi who finally dared to ask, as she sat down to the other side of the couch and brought her legs close to her chest. “What do you think it’ll be?”

Martín spared a glance at her direction but didn’t comment. He had ideas of what it could be but feared that voicing them would make them true. No one knew what was going on in the minds of the game makers. The Capitol could take literal children, or elders. They take even more people than last Quarter Quell, when they took 48 tributes.

“Something worse than ever before,” Marseille answered to Nairobi and sat down on the floor. He was soon accompanied by his cat. “That’s what I said last time, and we know what happened.”

Marseille had won that year and Martín could only imagine what it had been like. He never talked about it, but to Martín, twice as many tributes equaled twice as much trauma. It had been one of the most brutal games to watch.

Nairobi didn’t answer, but Martín knew she was thinking the same. And the worst thing was that whatever it would be, they all would be a part of it again - just like every year. Their lives were ruled by the Capitol and every year they had to take the train with the new tributes, escort them to their death. It was never over for them.

In Martín’s opinion, winning the Hunger Games was the worst thing to happen to a person. And after spending fifteen years with other victors, every year back in the Capitol, he knew he wasn’t the only one. Winners around the districts all hate their life - it is not the glorified one they had thought they would have.

Martín didn’t meet Nairobi’s worried glance and instead let his eyes follow the cat slowly walking from Marseille’s lap to the other side of the room like she was visibly uncomfortable. The horror if she would give birth now. Total chaos, with the announcement and the cat having her kittens in a household with three mentally wretched people. Martín could imagine himself having a mental breakdown with possible screaming, Nairobi screaming back to calm him down and Marseille hating them both for not making it a safe place for the cat to deliver.

The cat laid down on the only part of the floor the sun was shining on and for a moment Martín really envied her life.

“You all know what time has come!” a man on the television was saying. “That’s right! It’s time for the 100th anniversary of the Hunger Games and I can assure you that we have something _amazing_ to tell you relating to that! But before that, let’s meet the stylist that charmed everyone with our last year’s winner’s Victory Tour outfits -!”

There was the familiar face of Arturo Román on the television screen. Nairobi made a gagging noise that made Martín smile. Everyone knew that man - he held the interviews, held a show throughout the year talking about the Hunger Games. It was almost like he was _fixated_ on people dying. Where Martín hoped his life didn’t revolve around the Games, Arturo Román wished it.

Martín didn’t have a good feeling about this year - Román’s excitement was enough to tell it was something horrible.

Arturo was the person Martín hated to see the most, every year going back to the Capitol. He had always that annoying grin on his face and he was always there, asking questions on live television and making Martín’s life a little bit harder to bear. Martín knew it was to remind him where he stood, to not get too comfortable because the Capitol could make his life a living hell.

Finally, after the _longest_ interview with one of the stylists, it was President Sierra’s turn to speak and Martín held his breath. She walked on the stage with the biggest smile and a lollipop in her mouth and was wearing blue, to counter the red of the rebellion.

”We all know this year is going to be the biggest year yet,” she started with glee in her eyes, ”but you can’t even imagine how big. On the 25th year, we lowered the oldest age to fifteen - it was to show the brutality of the war—”

Martín snorted disbelievingly. _To show the brutality of the war._

”— and on the 50th anniversary, you all held your own elections to decide who to send to the Games. It was to show that you made your decision to rebel. On the 75th year we sent twice as many tributes to show how many lives were lost and this year, our 100th anniversary is to show that _not even_ the most powerful tributes can overcome the power of the Capitol. Let it be a reminder to not think too proudly of yourselves.”

There was a pause in her speech and Martín’s throat felt tight. That was President Sierra clearly addressing the rebellions going on in every district.

”This year the tributes of every district will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

Existing pool of victors. It took Martín approximately ten seconds to get what it meant - for Nairobi, who was the only female victor of District 12, and for him, because there was _no way in hell_ he would let Marseille go back there. He had been through enough.

“ _No_ ,” Martín whispered like it would change anything.

The rest of the speech fell on deaf ears - Martín’s head was spinning, he felt weak and dizzy and his heart was racing. It was _too much_.

It didn’t take long for Nairobi to stand up and march out of the house without saying a word. Ignoring his dizziness, Martín got up to follow, but Marseille stopped him by grabbing his wrist. “Don’t,” he said with a low voice. Martín considered it for a moment, nodded, and took a deep breath. He yanked his hand away and walked to the other side of the room to look out of the window.

↡

The next week went by quickly.

On Monday, Nairobi came back from her random trip to nowhere and straight to Martín’s place with new determination and a smile on her face. She sat down to the kitchen table, looked at Martín with a serious expression, and asked, “Will you volunteer for Marseille if he gets reaped?”

Technically, it was fifty-fifty for him and Marseille, but Martín had already made up his mind. “Of course I will. He doesn’t deserve to go through that again.”

Nairobi nodded approvingly and proceeded to go find them a bottle of wine from Martín’s cabinets. He let her pour them both a glass. “I agree,” she said then and took a sip from her drink.

In spite of them being friends, they rarely agreed on things. Martín was glad this was a thing they did agree on.

“What he volunteers for you?” Nairobi asked after a short silence.

Martín knew it would mean him being left alone - or at least one of his best friends dying - and he winced at just the thought of it.

“Then I will do everything I can from the outside, to get you both out of there alive,” he said.

On Tuesday, Martín and Nairobi decided to go hunting together. The woods were forbidden, but they hadn’t cared for years about that. It felt good to be back there, Nairobi with a bow on her hands and Martín with his knives. He hadn’t thrown a knife in fifteen years, but it felt weirdly therapeutic.

On Wednesday, Martín had a mental breakdown and on Thursday, Marseille was there to give him a shoulder to cry on. When he arrived, Martín tried to play it cool and pretend it was alright, but when Marseille finally asked how he was Martín broke down to ugly sobs and slouched down on the couch.

They sat in silence for hours, Martín hungover and crying, while the cat laid on his lap and Marseille held him close. After being through traumatic events, both of them, it was just how they were together - affectionate and not ashamed of it.

On Friday, all three of them spent the whole day watching recaps of the old Hunger Games. Marseille had a notebook with him, took notes of the living victors and vanished, when Nairobi and Martín decided it was time to go through the Quarter Quells. Neither of them blamed him.

Marseille was amazing in his games - held a close relationship with the other three tributes from District 12 and helped them throughout the games. It came down to Marseille and the other guy from their district, and it was heartbreaking to watch them fight it out.

“I think we may have to split up, towards the end. I don’t want it to come down to us two,” Nairobi said quietly. There had never been two winners and Martín agreed - though he knew he’d let Nairobi win.

“We can discuss our tactics closer to the game,” Martín answered and brought the bottle of beer to his lips.

“Yeah, sure,” Nairobi said quietly and then raised her eyebrows in an almost amused way. “You do realize you have to stop drinking, right?”

Martín cursed loudly.

On Saturday, Sofia arrived. She was beautiful as ever, in her blue dress and typical silver wig that tried to reach the sky with its ponytails. They all had learned to love Sofia and Martín just knew Sofia loved them all back just as much.

The sun was shining and in Martín’s honest opinion it was way too beautiful for what was about to happen. Usually, the reaping days were grey and windy. He wanted that back.

Martín was in his best casual clothes - a sleek leather jacket he never used because it just felt too fancy, a turtleneck and tight pants. So what if he wanted to show off his ass in live television? They were standing in a roped-off area with Marseille, on the other side of Sofia, while Nairobi was on the other. The crowd in front of them was silent, awaiting and Martín could see the sad faces of the people they were familiar with.

Sofia started with the girls, just as usual, and took the lone piece of paper that everyone knew had Nairobi’s name on it from the girls’ reaping ball. Nairobi’s face was calm and collected, as he stepped to stand next to Sofia without saying a word.

“Right, then,” Sofia said quite awkwardly and turned to the reaping ball on her other side. It held two pieces of paper - Martín’s and Marseille’s.

And, of course, the one she caught was Marseille’s.

Martín shared a quick look with Nairobi, stepped closer to Sofia, and loudly said, “I volunteer as a tribute.” He didn’t look at Marseille at any point of it, too scared to see his reaction, but Sofia took him gladly next to her.

Taking Martín’s and Nairobi’s hands, Sofia gave a tight smile to the crowd and to the cameras filming.

“May I present to you, the tributes of District 12!”

↡

There were 67 living victors, Martín counted in his mind, and after the games, there would be only 44 left. That meant _twenty-three_ people who were promised luxury and wealth for already winning once, were going to die. And Martín was very sure he was one of those twenty-three.

The train was just like usual - Martín had his own, quite bland room, at the back of the bar. Nairobi had her’s next to it, and Marseille, with his cat, took the one at the front. It almost felt like a second home for all of them, spending most of their years either in the Victor’s Village, in the Capitol or in the railways between those two. Usually, Martín was just drunk, though, throughout the whole train ride. Now either Sofia or Nairobi was there to take the bottle out of his hand if he even _thought_ about it.

“I like you more when you’re sober,” Sofia said. She was wearing a white dress with flowers and her makeup reminded Martín of a ferret. Her wig was bright orange today - which was quite a bold choice, considering how close it was to the color red. But part of Martín almost hoped that it was Sofia’s purpose. She was a smart woman.

They were vacating the train’s living area, lounging on the couches and watching the scenes go by. It was the morning after the reaping and Martín had, surprisingly, been the first one up.

“Cool,” Martín answered just as Marseille entered the room, hugging his cat. After the reaping Martín had told Marseille to stay home, but he had insisted on joining them - as their mentor, one more time.

“Have you given a name to her yet?” Sofia asked him. She was fond of the cat - Martín could see. But she was also fond of Marseille, so it wasn’t surprising.

“Paris,” Marseille said simply.

“Holding on to the city name tradition,” Sofia hummed approvingly, “I like that. Can I hold her?”

It had been a joke, at first. After Marseille won, every victor after him had given themselves an old city name. The Capitol hated it and that’s why Martín loved it. Marseille had said it was only hilarious to him, a few years back, but Martín could see the fond look on his face whenever a new winner declared their city name in front of the television screens.

Martín had decided on Palermo. He thought it fit him well.

“Of course,” Marseille said and offered the cat to Sofia. Martín smiled at their interaction - Sofia’s and Marseille’s relationship had always been something he’d looked up to, but hadn’t quite understood at first.

He remembered his first time on the train, watching a lot younger Marseille interact with a lot younger Sofia with just as much appreciation and adoring for each other, and wondering how anyone ever could have such a great relationship with someone from the Capitol. He had been quite stupid, and angry.

There was a slight smile on Marseille’s face and Sofia smiled back.

Nairobi joined them a few minutes later - she was grumpy, like always on the train, and Martín offered his full cup of coffee to her without a word. She thanked him quietly.

“She’s called Paris,” Martín told Nairobi and nodded towards the pregnant cat purring on Sofia’s lap.

“Cool,” Nairobi said, but in a completely uninterested way. “Don’t we have some reapings to watch?”

They did, and so Marseille retrieved his notebook and then they all turned their attention on the television screen. Martín thought of all the times before, on the train watching the recap of the other reapings. It felt so weird to actually be the person going to the games again - that they were watching it for him and Nairobi to know who they would be facing.

Out of the 67 living victors, Martín was friends with only a few. It was Nairobi, who was friends with everybody, and Marseille, for being one of the most legendary winners yet was liked by everyone.

They started with District 1 - and of course, it did not go down without drama. A woman, quite like Sofia, but whose name Martín didn’t know, stepped on stage with a smile. There were twelve winners alive in District 1, all of them standing on the podium just like Martín, Marseille and Nairobi had been.

“Just like always, women first,” the lady said with a sweet smile. She took a name from the girls’ reaping ball and could only say, “ _Mariví—_ ,” before a brown-haired woman stepped from the back and volunteered with a firm voice.

Martín had heard the words, “I volunteer as a tribute,” many times in his life, said it even himself only twelve hours ago, but it still sent shivers down his spine. He recognized the woman volunteering as Lisbon, _Raquel Murillo_ , if Martín recalled right - she was quite good friends with Marseille and had won her games only a day after it had started.

“It was her mother,” Marseille commented simply over the woman asking for Lisbon’s name, when Martín spared a glance at his direction, “I would’ve done the same.”

“For who? Your cat?” Martín asked, raising his eyebrows. Marseille chuckled lightly, but Martín noticed the dark look on his face and wondered if this meant he would’ve volunteered for Martín if their roles had been reversed the day before.

“And now for the man tribute,” the woman said. There were six names in the ball and she took the one on top of them all.

“Andrés de Fonollosa,” she read from the small piece of paper, and added with a tight smile, “who we also know as Berlin.”

The man stepped forward. He was wearing a dark suit and nodded to Lisbon as a hello.

Martín knew Berlin, but not personally. Everyone knew Berlin. The guy who had won his games without any kills - he had made everyone do the dirty work for him.

Martín couldn’t say the same. He was holding the most kills to this day - 18 out of the 23 other tributes.

Berlin’s games had been in a countryside kind of arena, with a big house, manor almost. It had rained every day in those games, and you didn’t know if the rain was poisonous before stepping in it. He had won a year before Martín and Martín remembered watching the game hoping he would never have to go there.

Martín didn’t know if it was the fact that Berlin was so attractive, or the way he seemed so arrogant, but Martín thought he was annoying already.

Marseille hummed and wrote something down. Nairobi’s and Martín’s eyes met and she was reflecting Martín’s thoughts on her face - it was like they collectively just agreed on not trusting that Berlin guy without actually saying it aloud. No one ordering other people around to do their dirty work deserved rights, in Martín’s opinion. Berlin seemed manipulative.

“That’s not good news, guys,” Sofia said, too, as they watched Lisbon and Berlin disappear to the building behind them.

“Right,” Martín said and just hoped District 2 would hold some allies.

District 2 held a possible ally - Tokyo, who Nairobi was friends with. Martín personally didn’t like her - he remembered watching Tokyo’s game three years back. She had been annoying and made stupid decisions throughout the whole thing. But Nairobi seemed to trust her, for whatever reason, and Martín trusted Nairobi. The guy from District 2 was 60 years old and Martín thought nothing of him. Marseille seemed to be sad for him to go, though.

Rio, the 19-year-old boy reaped from District 3, was the last year’s winner. Everyone had fallen in love with him, and the kid definitely was smart, Martín could give him that. Something in him said Rio could be trusted. One of the announcers even got teary for him for having to go back so quickly.

“A maybe,” Nairobi decided, and Martín nodded.

Denver and Manila, who were reaped from District 4, had a special place in Martín’s heart. He was good friends with Manila, and Denver was her cousin. They interacted a lot on a yearly basis - if Martín wasn’t with his usual company of his own district or with Helsinki, he was with them.

”I can’t imagine being related to someone in there,” Nairobi commented quietly.

”Yeah,” Martín agreed. He cursed their luck.

Marseille looked at them. “Is this a yes for you?” he asked.

Nairobi and Martín shared a look, and they both nodded.

Maybe it was a bad thing, to be so uninterested in the reapings, but full Martín’s attention snapped back to the screen only when they got to District 9 and he heard a painfully familiar name. It wasn’t like he wasn’t watching - he just hated the whole atmosphere of the reapings.

”Not Helsinki,” he whispered, as the bearded man stepped forward.

At that moment he decided it was all very unfair.

He quietly watched the rest of the reapings. There was a girl he knew, Stockholm, from District 10 reaped and they all agreed she was a possible ally. They even watched their own reaping, showing Sofia walking on the stage (“ _Did my makeup really look that bad?”_ ) and getting the lone piece of paper out of the girls’ ball. Martín watched as Nairobi winced after hearing her own name and almost felt like laughing just to unzip some of his emotions.

He watched himself volunteer after and the thankful look on Marseille’s face he hadn’t seen before was enough for him to know he had done the right thing.

↡

Being back at the Capitol brought back memories, the good and the bad, but being prepped for the opening ceremony just brought back the worst. Martín’s prep team kept saying how unfortunate and shame it was for Martín to be there again, and one of them actually cried, too. It was weird and kind of amazing to see the people in the Capitol being unhappy for the victors having to fight again, though.

Seeing Tatiana walk through the door was like heaven on earth after the hours with the prep team. She was beautiful as ever and continued to be the least Capitol-like person living there - she had her natural hair on a ponytail and was wearing just a bland, black jumpsuit.

“Hello, love,” Martín greeted her, with just a robe on and a big smile on his face - he had missed her dearly, “long time no see.”

Tatiana smiled back and glanced at the prep team on the other side of the room. “Did they cry?” she asked.

Martín nodded and rolled his eyes. Tatiana gave a snort and said, “Good, I told them to.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Martín said with a laugh and pulled Tatiana to a hug. She answered the hug with delighted laughter. “I’ve missed you, Palermo,” she said, “and I don’t like this at all.”

It felt relieving to hear.

They ate lunch with the rest of the group - Sofia and Marseille were having a deep, hushed conversation while Tatiana, Nairobi’s stylist Matías and Nairobi were talking about the opening ceremony with their mouths full of food. Martín listened to their conversation, but kept glancing at the clock just ready to get the opening ceremony done and dealt with.

After arriving at the Capitol, Martín’s first thought had been to go and find Helsinki - Sofia, however, had stopped him at the door and reminded him with a sad smile that he was a tribute again, and couldn’t go just as he pleased. Somehow, Martín’s mind hadn’t yet quite digested the fact that he would probably be dead in few weeks but that made him realize that. After that, he had been in his worst mood and everyone, as usual, annoyed at him.

“So, what have you got in store for us?” Martín asked as he and Tatiana left the dinner to finish the preps. She and Matías had been their district’s stylists for years and always worked together to bring the most beautiful creations to life. Tatiana just smiled and seated him to a stool.

“Something new.” Which, well, didn’t tell much. They always did something new. “We should cut your hair,” she casually continued and Martín shook his head right away. His hair was overgrown, yes, but he quite liked it long.

“No,” he said and then glanced himself through the mirror, “I like it as it is.”

Tatiana shrugged, like it wasn’t her choice to make even though it kind of was, and answered, “As you want. But I’m making it cleaner.” She worked on Martín’s hair in silence and Martín relaxed as well as he could. It was a nice and silent moment.

In Martín’s first games, Tatiana hadn’t put a lot of make-up on him, but now she brought her eyeshadow palette with a glint in her eyes and a smile on her face. Martín just raised his eyebrows but let her do what she wanted.

The eyeshadow was dark red and circular around Martín’s eyes - it was overly dramatic and _rebellious_. He liked it.

“You sure about the red?” he asked silently. Tatiana could get serious consequences from being associated with the rebellion and Martín didn’t want that upon her.

Tatiana chuckled.

“Believe me when I say, darling,” she answered, “that you won’t be the only one wearing something red.”

The outfit Tatiana presented him with was a three-piece, black suit with dark red collars and material that felt suspiciously heavy - knowing her, there was a lot more to the suit than it gave on.

“It’s amazing,” Marin said truthfully as he watched himself from the mirror. It was simple, but everyone also knew him already - he had a whole group of supporters and probable sponsors already standing behind him for having the highest body count in the history of the games. Martín didn’t need glitter or dramatics, he just needed to be himself.

“Thank you,” Tatiana said and then brought a hand to his shoulder. “We should go.”

↡

Nairobi had a suit quite just like Martín’s on. She looked powerful in it.

“Is that suit funnily heavy on you, too?” Martín asked jokingly, throwing a glance at their stylists. Tatiana gave a blinding smile and then offered Martín a red feather with a button.

”Press this when you guys feel like it,” she said and Martín took the feather in his hands with raised eyebrows.

Before he could respond, however, he heard the familiar voice of Helsinki going, “Palermo, Nairobi!” and Nairobi’s face brightened right away. Martín turned around and was met by Helsinki’s smiling features and open arms ready for a hug.

Martín let out a happy laugh and closed the space between them with a big step. He hugged Helsinki with enlightenment and with so much force they almost fell over. Helsinki laughed against his hair and Martín, just for a while, wanted to wish they both would still be alive in two weeks’ time.

Helsinki had been Martín’s first friend from the other victors. It had started rough, with just casual hookups for years, but slowly just turned into appreciation from both parties. Seeing and spending time with him was always the highlight of Martín’s year - while he hated everything else related to the games.

Helsinki was quite a legendary winner too - he had not been scared to do what was needed to do. His games had only lasted

Helsinki’s suit was all dark red.

“It’s so good to see you,” Martín said in the hug, “though I hope it would’ve been in different circumstances.”

“I agree,” Helsinki said and Martín let go of him to let him hug Nairobi as well.

Oslo was standing behind Helsinki and offered a small smile to them - he was there to probably mentor their district and Martín couldn’t imagine what it was for Oslo to see Helsinki back in the arena.

“This is so wrong,” Martín just decided to say. Helsinki met his gaze and from his eyes, Martín could see he was thinking the same.

“Yeah,” Helsinki said, “I talked to Denver and Manila. They’re not happy.”

Martín could only imagine what that meant - they had to get those two to join them. They didn’t want to be on the wrong side of that duo. “Figures,” Martín said and turned his gaze to travel the groups of tributes talking. Tokyo was having a chat with the new guy, Rio, who was looking pretty nervous and glancing around him like he was going to get eaten by lions. What was interesting was the next group Martín laid his eyes on.

It was Denver and Manila with Stockholm, which wasn’t that surprising, but also with Berlin and Lisbon from District 1. And that was a bit surprising - Martín had never heard of them being friends, of anyone being friends with Berlin, actually. In person, though from afar, Martín had to admit that Berlin was stunning and attractive in a way that easily captivated you - he imagined that if he had been in the games with Berlin before, he would have easily done exactly what he wanted.

He and Lisbon were wearing matching, red overalls. Bold move, in Martín’s opinion, but he could appreciate it.

Their eyes met and Martín quickly looked away.

Nairobi must have noticed the group too, because he nodded towards the group and asked from Helsinki, ”Talking about them. What’s up with that?”

Helsinki glanced at the group and shrugged. ”Possible allies,” he answered. Martín didn’t comment how his mind instantly said _not them_ and just gave a thoughtful look towards the group.

Nairobi, however, didn’t filter her mouth and stated just what Martín was thinking. ”I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Helsinki didn’t answer for a long time, and when he did it was only a quiet, ”yeah.” He looked hesitant and Martín took a note to ask about it later.

He just had a bad feeling about it.

They said goodbye to Helsinki when the music started and climbed on their chariot when the District 1 ride started moving towards the opening doors. Tatiana gave them a thumbs up and Martín rolled his eyes at that, then turned to look at Nairobi.

”You okay?” he had to ask. It felt weird for him to be back on the ride, so it must have been like that for Nairobi, too.

”Fine,” she said, gave a smile and then turned to look in front of her when the chariot started to move. They had discussed it - no waving, no smiling, nothing like the ceremony would usually be. They were there again and they were not happy about it.

Not that anyone was happy the first time, either.

Usually this part, the opening ceremony, was the sponsors first real see of the tributes, for them to showcase themselves, but this year the sponsors already had their favourites. This year the rides were just one formality of many to come.

”Have any idea what this thing does?” Martín waved the red feather in front of him. Nairobi shook her head.

”We’ll see, soon,” she answered.

The volume of the crowd seemed louder than usual when they finally made their way towards the middle of it all. Martín was ashamed to notice the adrenaline it brought up - the need to perform and give the audience what they wanted. From the screens he could see the other tributes' outfits better, how mesmerising everyone looked and how Tatiana had been right - they definitely weren’t the only ones with something red. Every single one of the tributes had something red on them.

Martín fixed his eyes to a point straight in front of him. He didn’t know who the crowd was cheering for and didn’t care, either - it was their moment again.

“Do it,” Nairobi said calmly, and Martín pressed the button.

He had expected a lot of things from Tatiana’s beautiful mind, but this was not it - it was like a layer from both of their suits had completely burned down in just seconds, and from the screens Martín could see there was long, burning feathers quite just like the one in his hand, dragging from behind them as they moved. He had a hard time keeping his face calm and not showing the amazement.

They curved around the city circle and Martín threw a quick look at the President standing on her podium. She looked back with such an unimpressed expression that made Martín want to punch her in the face. That was not new, though.

Martín felt like he could only breathe again when their chariot ride was back inside, the doors were closed behind them and the cheering crowd was not audible anymore. His ears were ringing as he jumped off the ride. The feathers had stopped burning, but it seemed like nothing had happened to them - they were just as healthy and vivid as the feather Martín was still tightly holding on.

Marseille was waiting for them with Tatiana and Matías.

“Good job guys,” he said, and Tatiana next to him nodded.

“That was fantastic!” she said also and Martín let a smile on his face.

“You are fantastic,” he said back, “seriously, how did you come up with this?”

The only answer Martín got was a wink. Their chat was interrupted by the Capitols attendants who directed Martín, Nairobi and Marseille towards the elevators to go back to their floor of the building. Martín threw a kiss to their stylists.

They stepped into the first empty elevator they found, but before it could leave, there was a hand keeping the door open.

It was Berlin, Martín realized, holding the door open for him and Lisbon and stepping in without a word. Martín suddenly felt kind of awkward, and squeezed himself closer to the wall to give space to the other tributes joining them.

Lisbon greeted them with a smile and an almost cheery, “Hi!” She gave Marseille a sideways hug, while Berlin leaned on the wall on the other side of the elevator. His eyes were on Martín, just shamelessly staring, and Martín ignored it the best as he could.

The elevator went up two floors before the doors opened again to let Lisbon and Berlin out. Before they did, Berlin gave a court nod towards Nairobi and Martín.

“Nice costumes,” he said simply, and walked out of the elevator with Lisbon.

Martín and Nairobi shared a look and both burst out laughing.

↡

The training hall looked just like Martín remembered it from fifteen years ago. Nairobi and Martín were the third set of tributes to come in, only with Denver and Manila and the tributes from District 11 already there. The gamemakers were all also there, sitting in their force-fielded stand embedded on the wall of the hall. There were some new faces and, if Martín wasn’t completely wrong, a completely new Head Gamemaker. He’d have to ask about him from someone who actually knew better.

District 11 tributes were at the fire making station while Denver and Manila were warming up next to the sword-fighting section. Martín was interested to see how it all would go down - every one of them had their own weapons and their own styles that also everyone knew already. He imagined it coming to just everyone showing off their skills.

Manila noticed them first and with a smile waved to them. Martín shrugged, shared a look with Nairobi and then dragged the other with him to talk to the two. When Denver noticed them, he laughed.

“Palermo!” he greeted and pulled Martín into a manly hug. Martín hugged him back. “Hello, Denver,” Martín answered, “fancy seeing you here.”

Denver laughed again and Manila, behind her and clearly amused, shook her head. Martín winked to her direction and then pulled her to a hug, too. Nairobi stood next to them a bit awkwardly, almost, but still with her chin up. She had never been as good friends with Denver and Manila as Martín was, but they had come into an agreement last night about them - Martín and Nairobi needed to be on the good side of those two.

“Hello, Nairobi,” Manila said also with a warm smile. Nairobi nodded to her as a hello. The last time Martín had seen those two in the same room together, they had been so drunk that Helsinki and Martín had to carry them to their rooms.

Tributes started to slowly come in, but by the time the woman who runs the training started to go through the rules and the stations, only a bit over half of them were there. Martín was sort of glad of it. It meant more freedom for Martín to go through the stations as he wanted. Everyone seemed to collectively agree that the woman’s speech was boring and the tributes around them were chattering and just not paying any attention - it wasn’t that surprising, though, as everyone had heard those rules before and knew the stations already. For the next few days, they will be pleased to go as they want through the stations. There were trainers in every station just like last time, but Martín didn’t recognize any of them and imagined their work would be a lot boring this year.

“How are you holding up?” Manila asked, her eyes still on Nairobi.

“Alright,” Nairobi answered, “we’re alright, right, Palermo?”

Martín nodded. “Yeah, we’re doing okay,” he agreed. “What about you guys?”

Manila and Denver shared a look and both shrugged. “Okay,” Denver said after a while.

Martín gave them a sympathetic look and from the corner of his eye spotted Helsinki walking in, alone. It seemed like he didn’t have that good relationship with his district’s female tribute, and maybe it was a good thing, because Martín didn’t fancy the idea of a big group of allies. It would get dirty towards the end. Helsinki seemed to debate it for a moment, deciding to walk to them after a while of just standing alone. He was not familiar with swords with any way, Martín knew, while Martín and Nairobi both had it as a second choice weapon.

“Hey, guys,” Helsinki greeted them and turned to look at Nairobi and Martín, “your outfits looked amazing in the recap. You guys had Tatiana?”

Martín nodded. “Tatiana,” he answered, “and Matías, too. They never disappoint.”

After every opening ceremony, the tributes like the watch a recap of it afterward - last night, it seemed like District 12 had made an impression and half of the recap was just Arturo Román talking about how the most vicious tribute also seemed to have the best and most vicious stylist. While Martín appreciated the praise, he felt bad for Tatiana - there was a target painted on her back, now. The other half of the recap Arturo had spent talking about District 1.

Helsinki smiled. “They never truly do,” he answered. Then he turned his gaze on Denver and Manila. “You guys looked great, too.”

Manila smiled sweetly. “At least this time I didn’t have goldfishes all over my body.”

Martín let out a laugh and at the same time, the rest of the tributes around them started to move to the free stations. The speech was over.

Martín decided to just go for it. “Are we on the same page, here? Are we on the same side?”

He directed the question to Denver and Manila. Denver nodded right away. “Of course.”

Martín hid the relief from his face, but said, “Okay.”

Nairobi looked glad, too.

“So, have you got your eyes on some other tributes?” she asked. Straight to the point.

It was Manila, who nodded towards Stockholm on the knot-tying station. “Stockholm is an obvious choice for us. Tokyo, too. And I think that last year’s winner, Rio, is also someone to consider,” she and Denver shared a look before she continued, “and we are thinking District 1 is to be kept on our good side.”

Martín had guessed it was coming. He wasn’t going to voice his thoughts about Berlin, though, so he just said, “I agree. Lisbon seems nice. Marseille likes her. ”

“She is,” Manila said. “How is Marseille?”

Martín smiled fondly. “He’s alright. Hanging out with his pregnant cat and Sofia upstairs.”

Denver laughed at that. But he laughed at everything. “Pregnant cat?” Helsinki asked with an amused smirk.

Martín snorted. “You heard right,” he answered, then looked around. “We should probably start training, huh? Keep an eye on that Rio kid?”

Nairobi disappeared to find Tokyo from the groups of tributes and Martín and Helsinki left the District 4 tributes alone to the sword fighting floor. It wasn’t the skill first on either of their minds and four people on the floor was a bit too many.

They decided to go to the knife-throwing circle first. Before Martín’s first games he had used knives to hunt in the forest and preparing for his games he had trained with only knives and swords. He knew how to use them. The trainer was enthusiastic to see Martín and with a roll of his eyes Martín gave him what he wanted - a show with the knives he knew how to handle, hitting every target without a problem. Helsinki tried out the knives after him and Martín helped him the best he could. They spent almost two hours in that station, and Martín pretended to not notice the gamemakers eyes on him when they finally left.

The only vacant station at that point was the knot-tying one and with a shared shrug, they walked there. It was not something Martín was good at, but the trainer at that station was nice and showed them the basic ways to tie a knot to catch possible animals or even other tributes by foot.

The new kid, Rio, joined them a bit later. He worked in silence, but kept glancing at them and when he was done - with a perfect knot for hanging someone, Martín decided to speak up. “That’s some damn tying, kid,” he said, with a shrug. “Want to show us how to do it?”

Working with Rio was simple and easy, he explained how he used the rope and what different materials they could use instead of rope to do the same. Rio was smart, Martín noticed right away, though very young and still seemed to flinch every time he mentioned the arena. Martín related to that, and felt truly bad for him.

“The new Head Gamemaker,” Rio said, then, peaking Martín’s interest. “I met him on Victor’s tour. He seemed weird.”

Martín looked at the gamemakers - the only one who seemed to be actually interested in the training process was the new face who he had believed to be the new Head Gamemaker. Martín followed his glance and found the man looking at Berlin on the sword-fighting floor. And damn, the District 1 tribute was good with a sword.

Martín hadn’t actually known. From that guy’s games, he had expected him to be useless and just a very good manipulator. “Why did he seem weird?” Martín decided to ask, moving his attention back to Rio. Rio shrugged. “He wanted to talk to me alone but then only asked for me to trust him. I didn’t understand it then, but now I’m starting to believe there is something else going on.”

Okay, that was weird indeed. “He also wants himself to be called the Professor and not by his name,” Rio said, “to be more connected to the victors, he said, for not using his own name.”

Helsinki snorted at that and Martín himself felt kind of amused, too. That was some high speak from someone living at the Capitol.

“Interesting,” Martín said. Their conversation was interrupted by the training ending for that day. “It was nice talking to you, Rio,” he said.

Martín caught Nairobi and Tokyo walking towards the elevators and prepared for an interesting dinner telling about Rio’s words.

↡

They spent the next days going through the stations one by one. This time, Martín actually picked up some skills instead of throwing knives all the time, and with Nairobi’s help realized he actually liked archery. He wasn’t just as good as Nairobi was, but he enjoyed it more than swords and might use a bow and arrows as his secondary choice of weapon.

They were served lunch and dinner in the training hall and opposed to last time, when everyone but the career tributes liked to keep their distance, the tributes were all over the place and talking to each other. Martín and Helsinki liked to eat together and some days Nairobi and Tokyo would join them. Martín noticed Rio sitting with Denver and Manila most of the time.

Martín talked to Lisbon a few times, in training, and actually enjoyed her company. She wasn’t that bad and the only thing worrying Martín was how tight she was with Berlin, who liked to keep his distance and watch from afar.

And, damn, he did watch from afar a lot. It was kind of awkward.

That’s why Martín was surprised, when on the last day of active training he was sitting at the camouflage station with the trainer explaining what materials to use in the arena and how, Berlin joined him. He didn’t say a word and it seemed like he just came there to listen and to paint something on the fake leaves on the table. But as camouflage wasn’t in Martín’s skill set, he had to ignore the man sitting quite close to him to listen to the trainer who didn’t seem phased at all.

Martín tried to ignore Berlin still, when trying to camouflage his hand with some leaves and grass but making it look more like a badly trimmed, bright green bush. It was horrible, and the trainer looked like she was about to cry.

“Let me help,” Berlin said, then, and Martín froze.

He had two options - to refuse and fail again, or to let the man help and possibly succeed.

“Sure,” he said only.

Berlin gave him a smirk and worked on his hand in silence. It was weirdly intimate and Martín felt awkward, but had to stay still - partly to let the other tribute work and partly to show that Martín was not scared of him. It was almost a power thing for him; he wanted to show that he wasn’t going to just follow Berlin around like a dog. And he didn’t want the other tribute to think he was any better than Martín was, regardless of the drastic difference of their kill counts.

Berlin fixed the camouflage and made it look scary realistic, like grass in the forest. He was clearly good at this and Martín felt himseld envy, a bit. He had tried his best to pay attention on how Berlin did it, but knew he couldn’t do it like that - he was better in technical and physical things.

“It’s not like you can use this much time on camouflaging on the arena,” Berlin was talking with a low voice, “but I think you got the point of it. Trying to make it look real.”

Martín nodded. “I got the point,” he said. “You know, _Palermo_ ,” Berlin continued, “I think camouflage is the most important skill you can have. You’re making something appear as a different thing; hiding the truth behind a mask. We need that skill here.”

Martín didn’t like the cryptic way Berlin talked, eyes locked on Martín and a small, knowing smile on his lips.

“I agree,” he said slowly, tilting his head a bit and thinking about Rio’s words a few days back, “things always aren’t as they seem.”

Berlin nodded and then stood up. “Glad we can agree,” he said.

He left Martín alone to the camouflage station without saying anything more and in some way, Martín felt defeated.

↡

The last day of the training consisted of every tribute's private sessions - they had 15 minutes to impress the gamemakers with their skills, starting from District 1 male and ending with District 12 female, making it clearly unfair to the later districts. Last time, Martín had shown off his knife skills and gotten a solid ten out of twelve. He could do that again, he supposed, but part of him didn’t want to paint a target on his own back. A higher score meant more enemies in the arena.

They were all sitting in the dining area. Martín remembered his first time there, sitting on the furthest table of them all with his district’s girl tribute. This time they were all sitting together in one table, with District 1 on the other side of it and Martín and Nairobi on the other.

“Andrés de Fonollosa,” a voice called from the speakers and Martín saw Berlin stand up from his seat and walk to the doors of the training hall. He looked bored and uninterested - Martín imagined him showing off his skills with a sword, or maybe the camouflage he seemed to be so good at.

One by one the tributes left the dining table and disappeared through the door. When the girl from District 11 left Martín and Nairobi alone, Martín turned his attention to the woman sitting next to him. “You know what you’re going to do, yet?” Martín asked from her. Nairobi shook her head and looked around the emptied room. She seemed somewhat anxious and Martín was surprised to notice that he didn’t share that. He felt weirdly calm.

“Maybe shoot some arrows,” she said, “and Tokyo helped me with a spear, too. Might use some of the time to do that also. It’s not like they will be very interested anyway.”

Martín winced and then nodded. Though, something in the back of his mind said this time would be different. The new Head Gamemaker seemed to be genuinely interested in their progress, keeping his eyes on the tributes almost all the time. “Yeah, I only got their attention by yelling last time. I was furious. Maybe I should only do that, this time. Yell for fifteen minutes.”

Nairobi snorted and rolled her eyes amusedly. “I can imagine you yelling for fifteen minutes straight and getting the first zero in history.”

Martín laughed and got a weird look from the guard at the door. “Maybe I will tell stories about Marseille’s cat,” he hummed, “that should give me a solid two, at least.”

It didn’t take that long before Martín was called to the hall. Still having no idea what he would actually do there, he walked to the other side of the room and turned back to Nairobi, giving her a thumb up. “Good luck,” he said to her and opened the steel door for himself.

They had changed the lighting of the training hall to brighter, as well brought most of the real weapons, as well as targets, out to the floor in front of the stand full of gamemakers. Martín spared a quick glance at the direction of the gamemakers and then looked around to decide what to do. Most of the camouflage section was already used - there were just a few paints left. It was not like Martín was going to do anything with them, but it just showed how cruel the private sessions were to the later districts.

“You may begin,” the Head Gamemaker, _the Professor_ , as he called himself, said from his spot.

The knives looked very tempting; they were shiny and when Martín walked closer to them and took one in his hands he realized they had a good grip as well. He just wasn’t feeling it - he knew he could hit the targets and receive a good score. He let his fingers trail over the swords and the machetes, but with a shrug walked away from the stand. He felt the Professor’s eyes on him.

“You know what,” he said with a fairly loud voice to attract the attention of the other gamemakers, sitting down in the middle of the room. “I think I’ll just take a nap. Wake me up when I’m free to go.”

↡

Dinner was quieter than normal.

Nairobi joined them a bit later, after taking a shower, with a smile on her face. That’s what erupted the conversation and Tatiana, who was also there to see the scores of their private sessions, spoke up. “How did it go, guys?” she asked with her mouth full of food. Marseille and Sofia were both looking at them interested.

Martín and Nairobi shared a look. Martín motioned her to start, part of him almost scared to see the reaction when he finally told about his session.

Nairobi was gathering food on her plate when she said, “I painted a dummy blue and speared it with an arrow. I was tempted to write Alicia Sierra on it.” Martín snorted loudly. So maybe his napping wasn’t that bad, after all. Tatiana laughed aloud and Marseille was trying his best to hide a smile. Only Sofia seemed scandalized.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

Nairobi shrugged and sat down to the table. “You know, they seemed almost amused. At least the Professor did. Don’t know what’s up with him.”

Martín knew what she meant, because when the Professor had ten minutes later dismissed him, there had been a glint in his eyes and he had sounded amused on top of everything else. Nairobi’s words didn’t seem to assure Sofia, though. “What about you?” Nairobi asked from Martín. He tried to keep his face neutral. “Oh well,” he answered, “I took a good, ten-minute nap.”

The reaction was priceless. Sofia looked like she was about to cry, while Marseille actually started to laugh and Tatiana covered her mouth with a hand while coughing loudly. Nairobi let out a loud, “ _Ha!_ ” and gave a thumbs up to Martín.

“You really went with getting the first zero ever, huh?” Nairobi asked with a glimmer in her eyes.

Martín laughed at that. “It’s almost like we planned this. What happened to maybe shooting some arrows?”

Nairobi shrugged and swallowed before she spoke, “I did. Just not at the targets.”

Sofia let out a helpless cry and Martín rolled his eyes amusedly. It was clear she was just scared for them, but it was quite funny.

“I adore you, Nairobi,” Tatiana said. Sofia dismissed herself.

They finished the meal in a much lighter mood than before and gathered in the sitting room to hear the ratings. Martín sat on the floor and Marseille soon joined him with his cat following right behind. Sofia was holding her hands in front of her eyes and repeating how she was too scared to look and how Martín and Nairobi had ruined everything, while Tatiana was comforting her with a hand on her elbow.

The ratings were shown just like always - they showed a picture that was followed by a number. Every tribute, one by one, starting from the District 1 male.

Berlin got a ten, and if Martín was completely honest, he had been expecting an eleven. (Only one tribute had ever gotten twelve, in the third games held.) Lisbon and Tokyo both got eleven.

Martín was surprised when Rio only got a six, while he had shown to be a smart kid. Denver and Manila both got a nine and Helsinki got a seven.

“Only?” Nairobi asked with her brows furrowed. “I was thinking the same,” Martín said.

Stockholm got a ten, too. The tributes from District 11 got the worst scores yet, when both got a four and Martín was pretty sure it was a bluff - they had to be better than that.

He actually got kind of scared when his own picture finally showed up on the screen. Sofia was watching through her fingers and let a screech when the number turned up.

12.

He got a _twelve._

By napping.

“What the fuck,” Martín said, shocked.

And when Nairobi got a twelve, too, Marseille cursed loudly and stood up.

“They are making you a target,” he said, “there is no other explanation.”

And it totally made sense, in Martín’s mind. Why give them a low score, when no one would believe it anyway - giving the highest possible score, however, made the other tributes think they were a threat. Someone to eliminate soon as possible.

Martín thought about the tributes they already had as sure allies - Helsinki, Denver and Manila. If it came to the other tributes wanting them out of the way, Denver could switch loyalties in a nanosecond.

Martín wouldn’t admit it aloud, but it kind of scared him.

“Oh, well,” he said, and stood up, “serves us right, I guess. Excuse me, but I’m going to bed.”

↡

There were two days of free time before the day of the last interviews. Tatiana and Matías came and went (“Please, we’re just coming to see how our favorite tributes are doing!”) and Nairobi and Sofia spent their time walking around in heels (“Do I really have to? I swear, you guys should’ve given me a long dress or something!”) - Martín and Marseille mostly just watched the broadcasts from the television or played cards.

Martín’s favourite place to hang out away from others was the rooftop. He went there to eat his breakfast and to just stand there in the evenings, watching the sun go down. Nairobi joined him the morning of the second day and they just sat there in silence - there was no need for talking and no topics to talk about; talking about home was hard and talking about the upcoming games was even harder. They didn’t want to use all their time planning either.

It was the night before the day of the interviews, when Martín didn’t get any sleep and stumbled out of bed to put some clothes on. He quietly walked through the sitting room and dining room to the elevator and pressed number 14 - the rooftop.

It was windy and Martín really hoped he would’ve put another layer on. He walked to the edge of the roof and watched the quiet city opening before him - there were lights in the windows and the streets, but no people anywhere in sight.

It was calm and reminded Martín of home.

“I didn’t expect to find anyone else from here,” said a voice from behind him and Martín turned around in quick motion. Berlin, standing quite close. Martín wanted to curse himself for not hearing his footsteps.

He took a deep breath and turned back around. “You’re just as surprised as I am,” he decided to say, then. “Yes, I gathered,” Berlin answered and stepped to stand next to him. “It is beautiful here. Reminds me of home.”

The fact that Martín had been just thinking the same was kind of scary.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “it does.”

He felt Berlin’s eyes on him and spared a look in the man’s direction. There were no readable emotions in his face - he just stared.

Martín broke eye contact. “You got a twelve,” Berlin said after a while, like Martín didn’t know it. “I did,” he said, “so did Nairobi.”

“But no one else did,” Berlin continued. “Why is that?”

Martín didn’t actually know what to answer to that. He didn’t know the reason himself, though everyone seemed to think it was like Marseille said - to paint a target on Martín’s back. But it was not like Martín could tell Berlin that.

So. “I don’t know,” he answered.

Berlin hummed contemplatively, like he was trying to make a sense of it all. “You are a wonder, Palermo.”

Martín raised his eyebrows but still didn’t look. A wonder, Berlin said. For someone who would probably kill, or make someone else do it for him, Martín within a week, those were some big words.

“Am I, now?” he asked.

“Yes, you...” a pause, “interest me.”

Martín had a hard time not letting out a disbelieving snort. The concept of Berlin finding him interesting was just too weird to even think about; the difference between them was drastic, you needed to only look at the kill counts; the way they had won their own games. Nevertheless, Berlin’s words also made something flip in Martín’s stomach. It was a surprising realisation from his part.

Martín wanted to ask why. It made no sense. He didn’t though.

”I have no idea why they gave me a twelve. I napped through the session,” he said instead.

Berlin gave a short laugh and from the corner of his eyes Martín saw him shake his head.

”And this is exactly why you interest me,” Berlin answered the question on top of Martín’s mind anyway. He wanted to ask

Martín didn’t answer, and Berlin continued, ”I have a proposition for you.”

“You have a proposition for _me_?” Martín didn’t know what to think of it. He snapped his eyes on Berlin, but got no look back - instead, Berlin was looking at some faraway point with a small smile playing on his lips. “Elaborate,” Martín said. He was intrigued, yes, but a bit wary of it all.

“I want you to trust me,” Berlin said shortly. When Martín raised his eyebrows, he continued, “I want you to trust me in the arena, because when the time comes I will save you and the girl from your district.”

Martin couldn’t help the little snort escaping his mouth. “Yeah, is that what you said to the people in your last games?”

“Perhaps,” Berlin answered with a small smile, “but back then I didn’t mean it.”

“What would make things different now?” Martín asked, maybe to humor himself. He just wanted to hear. “I’m not going to become your killing toy, if that’s what you need.”

“No, I have Lisbon for that,” Berlin said, like it was obvious. And maybe it was. “No. This year is not about me, or you. It’s about so much more. We want most of us out of there _alive_. We need _you_ because you are one of the most respected winners in the eyes of the Capitol.”

Berlin hummed and then turned to leave. ”I trust in you to make the right choice.”

Martín sighed and watched as Berlin walked back inside.

↡

For the interviews, Tatiana dressed Martín in a simple suit and for makeup she gave him a red eyeliner look. Martín smiled brightly at her.

“It looks good,” he said and Tatiana smiled as well. “Thank you, Palermo.”

They joined the other tributes chattering quietly offstage. From the TV installed in the room, Martín could see Arturo already having his opening speech with that ugly grin on his face. When Berlin walked on the stage, Martín moved closer to Denver and Rio leaning against a wall. Manila and Nairobi were close by, eyes on the television. “What the hell did you do in that room to get a twelve?” Denver asked right away.

”I took a nap,” Martín answered and Denver snorted.

”Then don’t tell me! People are staring, though. We ought to be careful at the arena.” Hearing Denver still say ’we’ eased the anxiety Martín had noticed having about his score.

He moved his eyes on the television on the wall. Berlin was smiling, but to Martín it seemed fake and almost awkward.

”So, Berlin, are you going to keep your hands clean this year?” Arturo asked. Martín could hear laughter in the room.

”You know,” Berlin started and leaned forward on his chair, ”wouldn’t that be just nice for us all?”

Arturo seemed dissatisfied with the answer and Martín tuned out. He still didn’t know what to think about Berlin and yesterday's meeting at the rooftop just made him even more confused.

“Has he talked to any of you?” Martín had to ask from Denver. “Berlin, I mean.”

“Not that I know of,” Denver answered, “why?”

Martín shrugged. ”Just trying to figure out where we stand with District 1,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie, but just a part of the truth.

One by one the tributes walked on stage. From Lisbon, Arturo asked what it was like to volunteer for her mother and Lisbon just smiled sadly and said she would do anything for her family. It actually made Martín almost sad - he had never known what it was like to actually have a family. Nairobi and Marseille were the closest ones to that.

From the sixty year old man from District 2, Arturo asked if he expected to die. He said yes. It didn’t make Martín quite as sad. Everyone expected to die.

”Are you going to have a hunger games romance this year, Tokyo?” Arturo asked when Tokyo sat on the couch.

”No, thank you,” she answered, ”I don’t have time for romances. I’ll leave that to someone else.”

Arturo hummed. ”Who would you least and most expect to have a romance this year?”

The questions asked from Tokyo were so unrelated and made Martín hate Arturo even more. Tokyo, however just shrugged and asked, ”One person for each?”

”Yeah, just name one.”

”I think Berlin there is quite romantic, so I guess I’d expect him to have something if I had to pick one,” Tokyo answered and made both Martín and Arturo snort. ”For the least likely, I’d say that guy Palermo, from District 12. Doesn’t seem like the guy.”

That made Martín actually laugh.

”Thank you,” Arturo said to end the interview with Tokyo.

When Denver and Manila both left for their interviews, Nairobi stepped closer to Martín and leaned on the wall. They watched the interviews together in silence, both making faces at Arturo’s stupid questions and the even more stupid answers he kept getting.

From Helsinki, Arturo asked if he had gotten any new animals lately. The joking answer about having a bear in his backyard got an amused reaction from the audience and Helsinki left the couch with a smirk. Martín cheered for him from the backstage.

Stockholm got asked about if she was going to poison people, like in her last games. She shrugged and gave a blinding smile to the cameras. ”Maybe you shouldn’t eat anything I give you.”

When it was Martín’s turn, he walked to the stage just like every time before - with his head held high and his expression neutral. He sat down and greeted Arturo with a fake smile.

”Palermo! It has been a while,” Arturo said. ”How have you been?”

”Good,” he answered and continued with, ”what about you?”

”I’m well, thank you for asking!” Arturo turned his face to the audience and whispered loudly, ”such a gentleman!”

Martín laughed with everyone.

”So, you still hold the score for the most kills in any games ever,” Arturo started, ”and I think every single one of us is thinking, are you going to let anyone steal that title this year?”

Martín wasn’t surprised about the question choice. ”Of course not,” he answered, ”after all, that would make you have no questions to ask me in the future.”

Arturo laughed, but Martín could see he wasn’t satisfied.

”So you think you’re going out of there alive?”

Martín couldn’t help but to only think about keeping Nairobi alive, when he lied, ”Positive.”

↡

Stepping in the tube taking him back to the arena, Martín felt like his world was going to crash and burn.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! i appreciate every kudos and comment so much, please let me know your thoughts <3 
> 
> you can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/LACASADEKLAUS)!!


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